What We Thought We Knew
by thusspakekate
Summary: Some things are better left unsaid, but that doesn't mean everything is. If everyone already knows, why can't they say it out loud? EWE/8th year, ADULT CONTENT.


**A/N: Originally written as a gift!fic for dora_the_nymph for Smutty Christmas 2012, based on her prompt, "Everyone knows." Thanks to teas_me for her beta work.**

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There was a large grandfather clock situated in the corner of the Slytherin common room. It ticked out a steady beat,which Draco used to count the passing time. _Eleven, quarter past, half past._ He tried to return his attentions to his book, a French Muggle novel about a war in Algeria that quite suited his mood of late, but his eyes kept wandering back to the closed portrait hole. _Quarter 'til, midnight, quarter past._

At half past midnight, the door slid open and Pansy slipped in. Draco didn't have to look up to know it was her and he didn't have to ask to know where she'd been, but he did anyway.

Pansy jumped at the sound of his voice, clutching her chest. "Merlin, Draco, you startled me."

Draco didn't apologize, just repeated his question. "Where have you been?"

"I was in the library," she said coolly.

"The library closed two and half hours ago," he pointed out, his left leg bouncing with irritation.

"Well, then I decided to go for a walk," she said, obviously lying. "And now, I'm going to go to bed."

Draco watched her cross the room towards door that led to the girl's dormitories. Her robes were rumpled and her walk was stilted, as though her hips were stiff.

"You were with him again, weren't you?" he called out.

Pansy stopped. "And if I was?" she asked over her shoulder. "Are you jealous, Draco?"

Draco scowled at the pages in front of him and didn't answer. Pansy disappeared into her room.

xxx

Hermione's hand was cramping, but she ignored the pain. She was already six inches over the requisite fifteen for this essay, but she hadn't even begun to discuss the more fascinating aspects of astral projection. The fire crackled at her side. Her eyes were tired and strained, but she wanted to work just a little bit more before succumbing to sleep.

The loud bang of the portrait hole swinging open startled her. She looked up, surprised to see Harry at the entrance. The lower half of his body was hidden, his invisibility cloak gripped tightly in his hand.

"Harry," she said,"I didn't know you were out."

Harry strolled to her side and swung one leg up to rest on the chair next to hers. She eyed his dirty trainer resting on top of the furniture, but said nothing.

"I just needed some time to myself," he said simply.

He smelled of perfume and cigarettes, of whiskey and sex.

"I rather doubt you were alone," she said tartly.

Harry shrugged, but didn't deny it. He pushed off the seat and gathered his cloak in his hands. "Don't stay up too late," he said. "You'll miss breakfast."

Hermione sighed and scrubbed her eyes. She needed to talk to him about this, to convince him what a terrible idea it was. Everyone knew what was going on, but no one spoke about it in anything more than hushed whispers when they thought Harry wasn't listening.

They were his friends. They were concerned. This wasn't like him.

She opened her eyes and her mouth, ready to bridge that unspoken boundary, but Harry was across the room, beginning his climb up the tower stairs.

Hermione sighed and returned to her essay. Maybe tomorrow.

xxx

There was a veritable feast laid out before them, meat and veg and bread piled high on the long Gryffindor table. Everyone was in high spirits. They'd just won the final Quidditch match of the term against Ravenclaw and the snitch laid dormant in the pocket of Ginny's robes. She slipped her hand inside to stroke the cool metal.

Harry was seated next to her, but talking to Ron. Her brother was going on and on in an excited ramble about how brilliant his kid sister was, about how she was sure to turn professional after school. She heard Harry agree and felt her heart soar.

She pressed her leg against his. When he didn't respond she thought he might not have felt it, so she dropped her hand to his thigh and squeezed.

Harry stiffened.

She let her hand wander, stroking the soft wool of his trousers and the firm muscle of his thigh. Her hand crept up further, closer and closer to the prize she desired more than any golden snitch. With reflexes that reminded her that he might still be the better seeker, he caught her wrist and held it tight.

He turned to her and shook his head, trying to politely avoid making a scene. Ginny snatched back her arm as if burned.

"It's true, isn't it?" she hissed. "What they say about you and her. It's true."

Ginny watched as his gaze flickered to the Slytherin table for a moment, confirming her suspicions.

"Do you like her then?" she asked. "Do you like her more than you liked me?"

Harry wasn't looking at her, but at his plate. "It's not like that," he said firmly. "It's not about that."

Part of Ginny wanted to make the scene Harry was obviously trying to avoid, but she was too hurt to scream and shout. "What is about then?" she demanded in fierce whisper. "The sex?"

When he didn't answer, she growled, "You're an arsehole, Harry."

She shoved her plate away and stood, her entire body vibrating with anger and the bitter sting of rejection. She climbed awkwardly over the bench, intent on slamming her way out of the Great Hall and back to the safety of Gryffindor Tower. It wasn't until she was halfway down the corridor that she realized what she had heard.

In a small voice, Harry had said, "I'm sorry."

xxx

When Daphne came to collect her, Pansy was still in her dressing gown. "Aren't you coming?" Daphne asked. "It's the last Hogsmeade trip before the holidays."

"I think I'm going to stay behind today," Pansy replied airily. She was staring in the mirror of her vanity, checking her make-up. "Get some reading done."

She shifted and Daphne caught a glimpse of a black lace bra underneath her gown.

Daphne rested her hip against the doorjamb. "You're awfully dolled up for reading," she observed, not believing the lie for a second. Everyone knew that Pansy never did her reading.

"I'm always dolled up," Pansy replied, reaching for her bottle of perfume. She spritzed it on her decolletage, then her wrists. "I have an image to maintain, after all."

Daphne rolled her eyes. This was a farce and she didn't know why everyone was indulging it. "It's not going to last, you know," she said. "A boy like him would never make it with a girl like you."

Tension appeared in the line of Pansy's shoulders, but her eyes remained fixed on her reflection. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," Daphne said with a sneer. "You two think you're so slick, but everyone knows. Just like everyone knows he's going to drop you as soon as he comes to his senses. He's going to ride off into the sun on his perfect golden steed with his perfect golden girl." She paused, watching as Pansy continued to primp. "You're not his golden girl."

Their eyes met in the mirror's reflection.

"I never said I was."

xxx

Pansy was examining the statue of the one-eyed witch when she felt Harry's arms slide around her waist. He kissed her neck and breathed, "Missed you," against her skin.

Her hand came up and carded through his hair. "Missed you too," she sighed.

They moved quickly and quietly through the passage. Harry covered them both in his invisibility cloak as they made their way through Honeyduke's cellar, up into the shop, and out onto the street. They slipped into The Three Broomsticks behind a laughing group of Hufflepuffs. Harry cast a set of Glamours on himself and stepped out into the crowded barroom.

He was such a gentleman, Pansy thought, as she watched him pay for the room and slip the key into his pocket. Even if she was hiding under an Invisibility Cloak and he was under a heavy set of Glamours there was something so charmingly chivalrous about the way he always paid for their rented rooms.

He signaled for her to follow him up a rickety flight of stairs that spilled into a narrow corridor. The windows were dirty, slivers of sunlight cutting through the layers of grime that had built up over the centuries. Harry unlocked the door at the farthest end of the hallway and ushered her inside.

The room was almost as dirty as the rest of the inn, but Pansy thought that fitting. She could feel Harry watching her as she pulled off the cloak and shrugged out of her heavy winter robes. Without speaking, she turned around and presented her back to him. He undid the row of buttons that held her dress together, running his fingers over each inch of skin that was revealed as he worked.

The dress fell to the floor and Pansy kicked it away. She could feel the tension in her body as Harry ran his hands down her sides, memorizing the smooth dip of her waist, the gentle roll of her hips. She shivered, a line of gooseflesh breaking out wherever Harry touched her.

She supposed the room was cold, but knew that wasn't why she was trembling.

He brought his hands to her back, unclasping her bra and pulling the straps down her shoulders. She shimmied out of it and tossed it on the floor. Harry reached around and cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers until they hardened under his caress. When he pulled sharply, Pansy had to bite back her whimper. She loved the way he always touched her, the perfect combination of harsh and gentle.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of her knickers. He pulled them down, peeling them away slowly. The gentle scratch of the lace against her skin drove Pansy crazy. When they puddled at her feet, she stepped out of them, but Harry had a firm hold on her hips to make sure she didn't go anywhere.

The room may have been freezing, but Pansy felt overheated. She loved this feeling, of being naked and exposed while Harry remained behind her, just out of sight, completely clothed and in control. The only thing left were her shoes. They were an impractical pair of heels that made the walk through the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade quite a feat, but she wore them anyway, because she knew that Harry liked them.

He'd never told her that, of course, but she knew.

His grip on her hips strengthened as he pulled her against him. The wool of his winter cloak was scratchy against her back, but there was a familiar hardness pressing against the swell of her arse that felt divine and made heat pool in her belly. His mouth fell to her shoulders again.

He bit and licked and swirled his tongue. She let out her breath and with it came a whimper, borne of need and impatience. If only he would bite just a little bit harder, he would mark her and she would wear it proudly, for all to see.

His movements were slow and drawn out. He pushed his hips forward as he pulled her back against him, rubbing against her until his cloth-covered hardness pressed between her cheeks. Pansy arched, rolling her hips in time with his languid thrusts.

It was lewd, this pathetic, desperate dance of friction.

One of his hands left her hips and trailed down, slipping between her thighs. She parted her legs, allowing him better access, as if she'd ever dream of denying him any part of her. His fingers were still cold from outside when they parted her lips; she gasped at the strange sensation of having something so dry and cold where she was so warm and wet.

Harry stroked her, his finger running the length of her slit. He let his finger trace her entrance and laughed into her hair when she snapped her hips, trying to force him inside. "Patience," he whispered, the first word he'd spoken to her since they'd entered the room.

When his fingers began to move over her clit, Pansy couldn't help but keen. She was grateful for the arm around her, and the other holding firm on her hip. Shocks of pleasure coursed straight through her center to radiate out through her body as his fingers moved quicker. She could feel her knees giving in, her legs turning to useless tubes of jelly.

His cock was still pressed between her arse cheeks, trapped inside his trousers. Pansy pressed back against it. She could have thought of a hundred better places for it to be, if she could only think. But she couldn't think, not when Harry was touching her like this: his arms around her protectively, his clever fingers working, his breath hot and shallow in her ear.

That was one of the reasons she liked Harry so much: she didn't have to think with him. She didn't have to play the coy games of seduction she'd learned in the hidden alcoves of Slytherin House. She knew she could trust him; he was the trustworthy sort. Noble and generous and straight-forward and unerring, he had all of the qualities she professed to hate, but that secretly made her swoon in a lover.

He didn't think of himself that way of course, but Pansy knew better.

She knew why Harry first came to her, but instead of feeling cheap, she was proud that she was the only one who saw this side of him. She suspected that he thought he respected Ginny too much to think of her in such a degrading way. She was an idea, a prize for a hero, and Harry didn't think he was a hero.

He didn't think he deserved a girl like Ginny, so he fucked a girl like Pansy. If Ginny was too special to be defiled, Harry must have thought Pansy was too common to be revered.

But she knew that wasn't quite true either; she saw the way he looked at her in the quiet moments after, when he let her coil herself around him like a snake. Maybe he hadn't liked her much at first. Maybe he'd only been trying to sink to her level, to dirty himself with a girl that everyone whispered about. Maybe he'd been rebelling against what he thought people expected of him. Maybe that was how it had started, but that's not how it was anymore.

Pansy was sure of it. Almost.

But she couldn't think of things like that now; there would be time for introspection later, when she was too sore and spent to move. Now, all she had to think about was that growing ache between her legs, that empty hole inside her that no man had been able to fill before Harry had come along. She wanted him there, more than just his fingers, more than just his cock. She wanted him to fuck every stupid, silly thought out of her head, every bad memory of the previous year, of the war, of her coincidental role in it.

She sought sanctuary in his kiss, absolution in his release.

"Please," she whined. Her heart was pounding. Harry had slipped two fingers inside of her, fucking her slow and shallow with his hand. "Please, Harry," she begged.

He chuckled, low and smooth, in her ear, sending a delicious tingle down her spine. "You're really desperate for it today, aren't you?"

"Yes," she hissed. Her hips moved of their own accord, chasing Harry's fingers whenever they pulled away. "Please Harry, it's been a week."

His breath was hot against her skin. He licked a trail up her neck, bit her ear. "What do you need?"

"I need – I need – " But Pansy's brain wasn't working. She didn't know what she needed, she just needed more of it. Anything – everything – that Harry was willing to give her. She wanted him to give it to her, and she'd take it. She'd take it all from him.

Harry pulled his hand away and brought it to her lips. Pansy sucked without thinking, bathing his fingers with her tongue, sucking the sweet and salty remnants of her own arousal from his hand. "You've got to tell me what you need, Pansy. Or else you aren't going to get it."

Fuck. How could Potter be so composed at a moment like this? Pansy felt like she was going to crawl out of her own skin. But that was another thing she liked about Harry. He always had control, even if he didn't know it.

"I need you to fuck me," she whined. She was squirming in his arms, trying to wrestle out of his grip. If she got free she'd pounce him, she'd tear off his clothes and impale herself on him. She'd ride him through the fucking floor if she could. But Harry was stronger than she was, and she'd never managed to break free of his hold before.

"Good girl," Harry said as he planted a kiss on her shoulder. "Now get on the bed."

Pansy jumped when he swotted her arse, a quick slap that made her bum sting and bloom red. She turned and scowled, but moved just that much quicker to the bed.

Harry watched as she positioned herself, arranging herself on the pillows and letting her legs fall wide. He smiled at her boldness, making sure no there was no confusion about what she wanted from him. Her thighs glistened in the dim light of the room. He wanted to bury his face between them, to suck every drop of moisture from her soaking cunt. He could lose himself between her legs, could crawl into that velvet softness and die a happy man, surrounded by the sharp scent and crisp tang of her.

He could see her dark eyes tracking his every moment as he stripped. He made sure to undress slowly, making her sweat it out. She looked marvelous like this, waiting patiently despite herself, naked and perspiring, panting heavily. She was beautiful in this light, so wanton and pliant.

He wanted to bend her in half and break her in two.

He grabbed her by one outstretched ankle and pulled her down the bed. She squealed and made a half-hearted attempt to scramble away, but he pinned her down quickly. Bending low, he brushed his lips against her neck where a hint of her perfume lingered. His mouth fell to trace the line of her collarbone. His cock, hanging thick and heavy between his legs, brushed against her thigh.

Pansy squirmed beneath him, hooking her legs around his waist, trying to pull him down to meet her. He slapped the outside of her thigh. Not hard, just enough to get her attention. Without saying a word he told her to stop, and she stilled. He sat back on his heels and ran his hands down her legs, from thigh to calf, around her delicate ankles and small feet, and then back up again.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he told her. She closed her eyes, a rapturous look of joy and relief spreading across her face.

He lifted one of her legs and hooked it over his shoulder, leaving the other to lie limp on the bed. She didn't object, she didn't move, just opened her eyes and watched him silently as he arranged her. She was trembling, her muscles taut and tense with anticipation.

He took himself in hand and leaned forward, tracing the head of his cock up and down the length of her cunt, slipping between her lips to collect her natural lubricant, but not pushing inside. Not just yet. He lined himself up at her entrance, licked the sweat off the top of his lip, and asked, "Are you ready?"

When she gave a weak nod, Harry pushed forward. He entered her in one slow, continuous movement, gasping as he felt himself sink into that glorious heat. It was like coming home, the way the walls of her cunt moved for him, opened for him, urged him deeper and deeper into her welcoming body. She whimpered, her fingers scrambling to find purchase on his shoulders, digging into his skin.

Harry let out a low groan when he felt that he was fully seated, his balls coming to rest just above the split in her buttocks.

"Hold your leg up for me," he instructed breathlessly. One of her tiny hands abandoned its grip on his shoulder and hooked onto her ankle. He could feel her stretching, trying to pull her extended leg back as far as she could, to open herself as wide as possible. "Does that feel good?" he asked as he began to move in slow and measured strokes.

Pansy didn't give a proper response, only sighed and whimpered and rolled her hips, urging him to fuck her like she'd been waiting for.

He never began as fiercely as he ended. He knew that she needed those first few moments of gentle fucking, of hips slowly rocking, of flesh meeting soundlessly as their bodies slid against each other. He leaned over, covering her with his body. He took hold of her ankle so that she could drop her arms and grope blindly at his back.

It was exquisite torture, this slow, deep fucking. At this speed, he could feel every ripple in the walls of her cunt as his cock moved slowly inside her. She was clinging to him, trying to pull him as deeply as she could, trying to force him to drown in her.

Harry sat back. He gripped her other ankle and pulled it up so that it was level with its mate. What a picture they made, Harry thought, with his cock buried deep inside her while he held her legs spread eagle. He could stare at that sight all day: his red, swollen cock, slick and shiny from her juices, disappearing inside the blushing pink of her cunt.

"More," she gasped. "Oh fuck, Harry. You feel so good, but I need more."

He pulled out further this time before he thrust back in, putting as much force in the snapping of his hips as he could.

"Is this what you need?" he asked.

He pulled out again until nothing but the head of his cock remained inside. She cried out at the loss, but the mournful whimper that rose in her throat quickly morphed into a startled gasp as he drove back inside. There was the loud smack of flesh against flesh where their thighs met, where his balls slapped heavily against her arse.

Every brutal thrust of his hips pushed her up the bed until her head was thumping against the headboard. She reached up, wrapping her fingers around the wrought iron bars so she had something to hold on to as she pushed back against him.

The sounds they made were obscene. Pansy let out a symphony of hisses, whimpers, and swears. Harry grunted and panted and every time he thrust into her there was the telling thunderclap of meeting flesh. The air crackled around them, electric intensity that twisted and grew like wild magic.

Harry dropped his upper body, pressing against her and trapping her legs beneath the weight of his chest. She was pushed against the headboard, her chin tucked into her chest, her knees at her ears. It couldn't be comfortable – it didn't _look_ comfortable – but the noises she kept making didn't sound anything like discomfort.

She was curled in on herself, this little ball of a fuck toy that Harry could push into over and over again. The fact that he could just position her somehow and she'd stay – that she'd bend and mold to his will – drove him wild.

Her legs were up so high that her hips began to lift off the bed. Harry scrambled to find get a better angle, so he could push down and into her. The ancient springs of mattress squeaked below them, protesting loudly as their pace built speed. Pansy kept moving her hips, thrusting them upwards, trying to fuck herself on his cock even as he slammed his way into her.

"Touch yourself," he told her. One of her hands fell from its grip on the headboard automatically. Two of her fingers slipped between her lips, moving quickly as they danced over her clit.

He was going to come soon, he could feel it; it'd been too long and she was too hot, too wet, too perfect for him.

He saw that she kept trying to look at him, but her eyes kept rolling back in her head, her eyelashes fluttering in a vain attempt to stay open. "Shhh," he said. He rubbed a gentle circle on her thigh, even as his hips still pistoned. "Relax, let go."

He swotted her hand away and it fell limply by her side. The hand he had on her thigh moved to the vacated spot and took up the task. "Just focus on this, Pansy. Just feel this."

Pansy made a pained, crying sound. She was rocking against him still, but weakly. Harry knew her body though, knew it better than he knew his own. This was the end for her, the final battle between herself and her will. She wanted to come, she was teetering on the edge, but she'd never get there if she didn't relax, if she didn't give up the fight and give over to him.

He leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth opened, but did little more than accept the kiss. "I've got you, Pans," he whispered against her lips. "I want you to come for me. I want to feel you come, I want to feel you come all over my cock."

Pansy whimpered, her back arching awkwardly in her cramped position. There was a sharp intake of breath, and a long, groaning exhale, and then she was shaking, her entire body quivering beneath him. The hand still on his shoulder clenched and then relaxed, her grip becoming less than a ghostly touch.

Harry loved fucking her in those few moments right after her orgasm, when she went as limp and pliable as an old ragdoll. But he could tell by the pout of her lip and the furrow of her brow that appeared immediately afterwards, that this wouldn't be one of those times.

The walls inside her were still contracting, trying to milk Harry's orgasm from him. He didn't fight it, just buried himself in that glorious heat and let himself go empty.

He never had the same orgasm twice, especially not with Pansy. Sometimes he felt like he was exploding, like his guts were being wrenched out of him through his cock. Sometimes he felt like he was drowning, so overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of their copulation that it caught him off guard and brought him down kicking and screaming. And sometimes it was like this: a warm, blissful slide into pleasure, a release that wrapped around him like a old blanket as his body hummed from head to toe.

Harry allowed himself a moment to slacken, to enjoy the way his skin tingled with pleasure. But then he looked at Pansy, her eyes still shut tight, her brow still bent, that deep crease of her forehead he hated to see. He pulled out of her quickly, scrambling to pull her down the bed and into his arms, just in time to see the first tear roll down her cheek.

The first time Pansy had cried after sex, Harry had been scared. Very, very scared. He'd thought he'd harmed her somehow, that he'd been too rough or said something to hurt her feelings. It'd taken a long time for her to convince him that wasn't the case. They didn't happen very often, but he never knew what to do with her tears because she rarely told him what they were about.

When he'd first started seeing her, he would have said that girls like Pansy didn't cry. But here she was, crying.

He wrapped her in his arms. She turned into him, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck. His hand traveled the expanse of her naked back, running up and down as he listened to her breath settle.

"Sorry," she sniffled into his shoulder.

"You don't have to apologize," he said. He pulled back so he could see her face. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Pansy shook her head and threw her leg around his waist, clinging to him tightly. "No."

Harry didn't push it. If she wanted to tell him, she would. He just lay there, enjoying the warmth of her body pressed against his, the feel of her leg wrapped possessively around his middle.

She was quiet for so long, Harry almost thought she'd fallen asleep. When she broke the silence, her voice was small, "Everyone knows. About us, I mean."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"How long do we have?" she asked, her voice unusually small.

Harry groaned, he didn't want to get out of bed to find his wand and cast a Tempus charm. "A few more hours at least, people won't notice we're missing until after dinner."

"I didn't mean that," she said as her fingers skated over his chest, stopping to dip in the shallow concave of his breastbone. "I meant, how long do we have until you chuck me." She was trying to keep her voice light, but Harry could hear the strain around the edges. "I know I'm not your end game, Potter. I know I'm not the kind of girl that gets the hero in the end. I just want to know how long until I have to give you back."

Harry tried to roll away, but Pansy's grip around his waist held firm. "I'm not a hero," he said tightly.

He felt Pansy shrug. "Maybe not. But other people seem to think you are. And they wont take very kindly to you shacking up with the Slag of Slytherin."

"You're not – " Harry started. He stopped and let out a grunt. "Don't call yourself that."

"Why not? That's what other people call me. And if I remember correctly, you like to call me that sometimes too," she added with a laugh. When Harry didn't join in her amusement, she rolled onto her back. "That's why this whole thing between us started, isn't it?" she asked flatly.

Harry opened his mouth to say that wasn't true. But then he shut it, because it was. It started because he wanted to fuck someone he didn't care about, someone he couldn't hurt. But then he'd ended up caring about her, and now, no matter what she might say to the contrary, he could hurt her too.

His voice was very quiet when he asked, "What do you want?"

Pansy turned to him. She looked ridiculous: her nipples hard and pointed, her neck bruised and bitten, her hair a mess of tangles. And she was still wearing those damnable shoes that he loved. She looked ridiculous, yes, but Harry thought that ridiculous looked rather endearing on her.

"How do you mean?" she asked.

Harry felt stupid. He was no good with words and being with Pansy didn't usually require so many of them from him. "I mean, do you _want_me to chuck you? Are you trying to chuck me? Or do you want to, I don't know, to...not chuck each other."

She turned away and scowled. "I really don't care either way."

Harry sighed. He rolled onto his side and reached for her hand. When she didn't pull away, he threaded their fingers together. "Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other, remember?"

Pansy looked very unhappy at having been reminded of that. She heaved a weary sigh and said, "Of course I don't want you to chuck me, Harry. I like being with you. I like whatever this, " she gestured to the bed between them, " fucked up thing that we have is. But I know that –"

Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and took a large breath.

"I know that the holidays are coming up, and you're going to go stay with the Weasels. And Ginevra will be there and she'll probably save a gaggle of house-elves from drowning or rescue of a box of kneazles from certain doom and then..." she trailed off. "I know I'm not your happily ever after, Harry."

Harry looked at her, really looked at her then, and something in his chest ached. He noticed the small frown lines at the corner of her lips, the way her nostrils flared, the sadness in her normally sharp eyes.

"Pansy," he said softly, "there's no such thing as a happily ever after."

"I know that!" she snapped. Hesitantly, she added, "I'm just not sure that you know it too."

No one knew better than Harry that there was no happily ever after. There hadn't been for Sirius, or Remus, or Tonks. There hadn't been one for Dumbledore, and certainly not for Snape.

"Trust me, Pansy. I'm well aware."

Pansy bit her lip and looked away. She looked so different in these naked moments, Harry thought. She normally walked around with her head high, her back straight. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and glared at anyone who dared to make eye contact with her. She wore her dangerous reputation like a suit of armor.

But now she was naked, without her armor or her black clothes or her carefully painted lips, and Harry could see how small and soft she truly was.

Harry rolled out of the dirty bed and pulled back the counterpane. He waited until Pansy had slipped beneath the bedclothes before climbing back in. She came easily when he pulled her against his chest. Her hair tickled his nose when he bent to kissed her forehead.

"What's going on in that crazy little brain of yours?" he asked.

A long silence stretched between them. Pansy finally spoke, she did so very slow, very carefully. "I was upset earlier because I realized...or well, the thought occurred to me that this might be our last time together."

His throat felt tight, but he kept his voice steady. "And what made you think a stupid thing like that?" he asked, trying to hide the way the thought made his stomach drop like a ton of lead.

Pansy bit his arm. "It's not stupid," she said insistently. "I told you, Harry. The _holidays_. The _Weasleys._Ginevra and that damned box of kneazles."

Harry laughed and sighed at the same time. "Pansy..." he strengthened his hold around her. "I'm not going to chuck you for Ginny. You should know that by now."

He felt her bristle in his arms. She pushed against his chest until she was squirming out of his grip. She glared at him, the softness in her eyes gone. "And why should I know that? Have you ever said?"

Harry tried to grab her arm, to pull her back to him, but she resisted. "I didn't think I had to."

Pansy rolled over with a childish harrumph, pulling the covers up over her shoulders. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, her knees pulled up tight. "While sneaking about does have its charms, it doesn't do much to inspire confidence," she said coldly.

"I thought you liked the sneaking around," Harry said as he pressed himself against her back, spooning her against his chest. She didn't pull away again, and he took that as a good sign. "You said it was exciting," he pulled the covers back so he could press a gentle kiss on her shoulder, "that you liked having a secret all to yourself."

Pansy pulled his arm around her waist and held it tight. "Yes, but the secret's out now." Her voice sounded bitter. "I didn't think you'd be willing to deal with the backlash."

Harry snorted. He let his fingers trace the soft swell of her stomach. "I've dealt with a lot of backlash in my life, Pansy. Most of it thanks to your lot, mind you. I doubt the fact that my girlfriend is in Slytherin is even going to make the papers this time."

Pansy turned, eyeing him suspiciously over her shoulder. "I'm your girlfriend, then?"

Harry hooked his ankle around hers, pulling her legs out of their tight, defensive tuck. "Could be, if you wanted."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Oh, how magnanimous of you." She turned away from him again. Harry could imagine her angry little pout; the thought made him smile. "The great Harry Potter, deigning to make his little Slytherin trollop his proper girlfriend so her feelings don't get hurt."

He wasn't going to rise to the bait. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it."

He saw the fight melting from her shoulders. Her hand slipped out of his grip, but lingered, playing with the ends of his fingers. "I know, Harry. I just...this is all very new to me," she sighed. "I didn't expect to grow so fond of you."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Fond of me? Perish the thought."

"Mmm, yes." Her body relaxed, she snuggled back against him. "You do rather remind me of this pet Crup I had as a girl."

Harry rolled her over. He climbed on top of her, straddling her hips. She looked up at him, her eyes carefully guarded, but there was a hint of a smile curling at her lips.

He felt happy and impulsive. Pansy Parkinson was _fond_of him, which meant in her own strange language that she really rather liked him. And he really rather liked her too. He wanted to kiss her breathless, to lose himself in the feel of her wrapped around him. But he had to know first, had to make sure they both knew. The time for talking with their bodies was over, for assuming they could say what they meant with a kiss.

"Let's stay the night," he suggested. He felt something strange, something almost like hope growing in his chest. It'd been a long time since he'd felt anything like that there, but it spurred him on, encouraging the impossible in his heart. "They don't do bed checks and our friends won't tell on us. We've got the room 'til morning. Let's stay the night, shag a dozen times, and then go back to the castle and have breakfast together."

"You're mad," Pansy laughed. Her smile was twisted and wry, but the apprehension slid from her eyes. "It would be quite the scandal, though," she said with a quirked brow. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched, bringing her lips up to brush his. "Your table or mine?"

Harry kissed the curve of her smile, the curve of her jaw, the curve of her neck. "We'll sit with the Ravenclaws," he mumbled against her skin. "They'll be too busy studying to even notice."

Pansy laughed and opened herself to his kiss.

xxx

Ron looked up and down the Slytherin table, settling on each familiar face. "She's not here, either. Do you think she's got him locked up somewhere?"

Hermione gave him a flat look. "Oh, honestly, Ron. I'm sure Harry is perfectly safe. God knows where they are, but you know what they're up to." She scowled at her porridge as if it had personally offended her. "What he sees in her though, I honestly don't know."

Ron frowned and returned to his breakfast, keeping one eye on the door to the Great Hall. It wasn't like Harry to be gone all night without telling them. But then again, Harry had been doing a lot of things since they came back to Hogwarts that weren't very like him.

As he reached for another slice of toast, the subdued chatter of the morning meal disappeared. He looked up. At the open door stood Harry, hand in hand with Pansy Parkinson. The hush of the room was quickly replaced with an excited murmur as students bent low to whisper to each other excitedly.

Parkinson looked momentarily taken aback, but Harry tugged on her hand and smiled. She nodded, threw back her shoulders, and they walked, hands still joined, to the end of the Ravenclaw table.

Ron watched, his mouth hanging open, as two plates appeared in front of them and they began to serve themselves, as if their sitting together at breakfast were the most commonplace thing in the world. Luna waved from her spot down the table and Harry waved back. He elbowed Parkinson's side, and Ron saw her head incline politely in Luna's direction.

Hermione nudged his leg. Covertly she motioned to Ginny, who was sitting stiffly, studiously ignoring everyone around her as she pushed her runny eggs around her plate. Leaning in, Hermione whispered, "Christmas is going to be interesting at your house this year. I don't envy you."

The toast fell from Ron's hand. "What?! You're not coming?"

Hermione frowned. "I already told you. I'm going to Australia to see my parents. Maybe Harry'll have gotten this, whatever it is, out of his system by the time I come back for New Years," she added hopefully.

Ron looked at the Ravenclaw table again. Harry and Parkinson's backs were to him, but he could see their hands, still clasped firm beneath the table. Harry whispered something into Parkinson's ear. She laughed and leaned into him. Harry's head turned so he could look down at her and Ron saw the wide smile that his best friend wore.

Ron sighed and picked the toast off his plate, chewing it glumly. "For some reason, Hermione, I doubt that."

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